


partners

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Protective Rio (Good Girls), Soft Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: ejunkiet said: A drop gone wrong (the two of them together, one of them gets hurt - anywhere in the canon, your interpretation!) 😘--“I can handle myself.” She insists, doesn’t need him to protect her.Rio smiles, something slow and thoughtful at her words but also because he’s suddenly realized their position to one another. Heat pools unwantedly between her thighs and one of his hands move to rest beside where she’s seated on the desk.“You don’t gotta convince me, darlin’,” His thumb brushes along the outside of her thigh, “I know exactly what you’re capable of.”





	partners

**Author's Note:**

> I am overwhelmed by the warmth my first Brio fic received and I'm really thankful for anyone who read and reviewed. Thank you so much!  
> This fic lives in-between 2x6 and 2x7; so Beth has some feelings about perhaps being a side-piece but it’s before the whole Dubby situation.

\--

The radio is white noise as Beth pulls into Boland motors, cutting the engine. She lets out a soft breath between her lips and glances up at herself in the rearview mirror, her own eyes staring back. They don't feel like hers though; almost as if someone else is driving, meeting her gaze back. Expectant, always looking for an answer when she doesn't know the question.

Her hand trails down to her button up, something simple and an almost sheer pink. She rests her fingers along the one side of the collar, which is dipping lower and but still hiding her cleavage. It's a little different than her usual floral blouses but if she's learned anything lately, it's that change can be a good thing. However, sometimes she worries that she's changing _too_ drastically, _too_ fast.

Beth's having trouble keeping up with _herself_ sometimes. She tries to reason that she's going in the right direction, that she can handle whatever comes her way—but often she worries that she's burning the candle from both ends and all that's going to be left of her is singed wick and melted wax that burns her fingertips.

The lies have been bothering her again lately; how she lies to everyone in her life—her friends, family, other PTA moms who's only concerns are potlucks and fundraisers, her husband, the FBI...

she pauses, her hand hovering over the top bottom of her blouse.

She lies to Rio—and for some reason that bothers her more than anything else, because she knows he lies to her without a second thought. And most of the time? what bothers her isn't even the outright denials; it's the brush off of information he doesn't want to share because he either doesn't trust her or because he doesn't think she can handle it.

_You don't gotta worry about that. Again, not your department, is it? School ain't in session right now. Not your concern. I ain't got time to hold your hand through this._

They're supposed to be partners, and yet, he doesn't tell her anything. She lies to Rio but she tries to reason that he's never honest with her either.

Beth bites the inside of her cheek, hard, and closes her eyes as her head leans back against the headrest with a resounding thump. Everything about Rio is a lie; down to the way his mouth curls around her name.

Around the syllables of _'Elizabeth'_.

Her hand drops and rests low on her lap, hand slipping between her thighs and she hates that she shudders to the point where her legs squeeze her fingers.

When she allows herself to think about him, her mind always travels back to that night. She can still feel her shoes stick to the bottom of the bathroom floor in ways that should disgust her, the heady scent of lemon cleaner and stale beer, her fingers digging into the corners of the sink.

They never kissed.

As intimate as they were, their mouths never touched. She doesn’t know what his lips feel like against her own, even though she’s imagined it. Thinks about it when he draws his lower lip between his teeth when he considers her, listens as if she’s got a world he’s never been to trapped underneath her tongue.

Rio’s hand had gripped the back of her thigh, tearing her underwear down so harsh and so fast that the fabric nearly ripped, his lips had assaulted her skin, his scruff brushing over her quickening pulse point.

Her hand moves up between her thighs—

He hadn’t said a word, even when he came, nipping at her shoulder. She remembers the quiet panting, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise, the way he grabbed her—he wasn’t afraid to touch her, he wasn’t worried about pushing her too hard against the wall, holding her leg up over his waist as he thrust into her.

As rough and quick as the encounter had been, Rio has never been afraid to break her.

Because he knows she’s not fragile.

There’s a distant car horn that jostles her out of memory, her hand jerking up so hard that she slams it against the steering wheel. She hisses and shakes the muscles out, wincing at the ridiculousness of it all starting to kiss her cheeks pink.

Beth lets out a soft sigh and looks up at herself again, gaze staring right back at her through the rearview mirror. She doesn’t recognize herself. She runs her hands over her cheeks and collects herself, ignoring the pool of heat gathering in her lower belly.

“Get it together.” She mumbles, getting out of the car. The breeze is welcoming, brushes over the sweat gathering at her hairline and the back of her neck as she grabs her satchel and begins her walk into Boland Motors.

She nods her head at the various hellos but her thoughts aren’t where they need to be. Beth insists that she’s not lying to herself…and yet.

And yet, it’s so easy to get wrapped up in her jobs, in working with Rio and feeling her inevitable _pull_ towards him, that there’s always so much she doesn’t know. She hoists herself against the white-hot sensation of anger that washes over her like a wave, top to bottom; because she remembers sitting in that parking lot.

Watching Rio pick up the car drop, pulling a beautiful woman out of his own car. The way he touched her, hugged her, his lips falling to her cheek not once but _twice_. So much she doesn’t know, so much he doesn’t tell her.

Their intimacy is almost erased by the secrecy.

She’s buried underneath consistent passing thoughts that by the time she gets to her office and closes the door behind her, she doesn’t notice him sitting in her office chair.

“Morning, Ms. Boland,” He says in that playful way he does and it makes her jump, which only widens the smile he’s already sporting.  

Beth lets out a short sigh and sets her satchel on her desk, her eyes focusing on anything that’s not Rio leaning back in her chair, his legs falling a little further apart as he gets comfortable. He’s dressed in black jeans and a maroon t-shirt that shows off a few tattoos that peak out from under the fabric. It’s strikingly different than the darker shades he usually wears and she hates that the color makes his skin look even more golden brown and warm.

“Car trouble?”

She looks up at that, her eyebrows drawing together. “No?”

Rio’s eyes trace over her in a way she _knows_ he does on purpose, trying to peel her layers back, expose her veins and nerves to the cold air. “I just figured, seeing as how you were sittin’ for a while before you came in.”

Beth quickly looks out the ceiling to floor window and sure enough, she can see her car in the distance. Was he _really_ sitting here? Watching her? Waiting for her to come in? It digs under her skin, as if what she was thinking about is clearly printed along her pores, stamped on her face. He sometimes looks at her as if he can read her mind.

It’s infuriating.

He smiles, slowly, his tongue clicking off the roof of his mouth to fill the silence because she’s not about to tell him what she was doing out there.

“Right so, if you’re ready we got business to discuss.”

“No,” Beth says suddenly, trying to steer the reigns best she can. He doesn’t like the single syllable, his smile instantly slipping into careful indifference. Rio watches her, his eyes clocking her movement as she rounds the desk to where he’s seated. “You mind?”

She snaps a nerve; she can see his jaw working but he doesn’t say anything for a moment. He always seems to be wavering between frustration and amusement with her because while he enjoys turning a profit, he _doesn’t_ enjoy this. The handholding, the babying, the putting off of conversations because she’s busy or doesn’t feel like it.

“Oh I’m sorry, you seem to be confused with how this works,” His voice is like gravel, all the teasing warmth he was giving her when she first walked in is gone, as if it was never there in the first place. “This ain’t a punch card; you don’t get to clock in when you feel like it.”

Beth rolls her eyes, can’t help it, a frustrated breath leaving her lips as she sits on the corner of her desk. “If you’re here to go over the drop tonight, I have it covered. It’s ready to go.”

Rio runs a hand over the lower half of his face, his eyes glancing out into the car salesfloor for a moment before he addresses her again. He does that often, she realizes, considers her before he speaks. It’s almost as if he has to check his reaction before he gives it, even though pure frustration leaks through every now and then. That kind of controlled anger is something she isn’t used to. Dean’s never exactly been patient with her, especially when he’s drunk.

Rio always seems to take a moment to try again.

He looks up at her and leans forward, his elbows almost on his knees and she swallows because—from this angle? His eyelashes are impossibly long, almost fluttering in an unfair way against his cheekbones.

“The drop isn’t ready to go because I’m changin’ a few things.”

She frowns, tries to wrack her brain with the work she’s done. He usually doesn’t do this, change up plans at the last minute. Beth hates the uncertainty that’s clouding her judgment because…did she not do something right? He reads her in that moment and shakes his head.

“This guy’s fuckin’ squirrely. I don’t like him, and I don’t want you to make that drop on your own.”

“I can handle myself.” She insists, doesn’t need him to protect her.

Rio smiles, something slow and thoughtful at her words but also because he’s suddenly realized their position to one another. He always stands rather close to her, which she reasons is about dominance. He’s not very tall but the way he asserts himself is overwhelming; the press of his body heat against her own almost always overpowers her. Makes her feel dizzy in a way that’s embarrassing to admit, even to herself. But this is a little different; she’s sitting on the corner of her desk and he’s so leaned forward that he’s nearly at her torso, looking up at her, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

Heat pools unwantedly between her thighs and one of his hands move to rest beside where she’s seated on the desk.

“You don’t gotta convince me, darlin’,” His thumb brushes along the outside of her thigh, “I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Beth’s eyes fall to his hand, the action of his touch, to that ring he always seems to wear on his pinky. Her one hand grips the edge of her desk hard enough to bruise and when she straightens her posture, Rio suddenly stands. Her body reacts to his like a magnet, her legs slipping open ever so slightly to accommodate his frame.

The roles are reversed, he’s towering over her just a little, their mouths close enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

She tries to steel herself, her mind rotating back to business as much as she can. “All…all of a sudden you don’t trust this guy?” Because this is typical Rio, not letting her in too deep, not offering her an explanation that makes sense to her because she’s not holding enough cards.

Because he always has all of them; full house. “Like I said, new plan. I’ll meet you tonight.” His voice is low, eyes trailing over her lips but never touching them with his own. Instead, he brushes his thumb over her jawline and pulls back. “If I want suggestions, I’ll set up a box, yeah?”

And then he’s gone, smirking over his shoulder before slipping out her office door. The room deflates when he leaves, like he’s somehow taken the oxygen with him. She sits there for a few moments, her legs sliding closed, her body cold and fingers trembling.

She feels cheap and, even worse, she feels _used._ Rio uses their intimacy to manipulate her, she knows this, because she’s used it on _him._ There’s a reason she went to the bathroom that night at the bar with Dean, why she knew he’d be there, because she knew he’d _follow her._

That she could walk right up to him, breathing the same air, before reaching past him to slide the lock into place on the door.

But this is different now, _they’re_ different now. There’s more she doesn’t know, because while she thought the bathroom that night pulled a layer from his body, it actually just added another one onto his skin.

There’s still so much he’s not telling her, still so much she doesn’t know and wouldn’t even if she asked.

 _It’s just business_ repeats over and over in her head as she stands from her desk. Tonight? Not wanting her to go alone? Doesn’t he trust her? Doesn’t he think she’s capable?

It’s just business…but that doesn’t feel comforting to her. Regardless of how much she’s proven, how much she feels like _she doesn’t have_ to prove—she still wants to. She thinks back to conversations she’s had with Annie about why she always expects Dean to have the answers, why she always runs to him when things get rough.

_Because he’s a man._

And she _hates that._ She despises that part of herself and regardless of how she knows she needs to stop doing that; it’s her tragic flaw, a skip in a CD, a frayed part of video footage that repeats over and over and over again.

Beth sinks into her desk chair, jaw tightening as she straightens her back.

Well, _not_ anymore. Fuck Rio. She’s doing this thing tonight on her own.

\--

The drop is in a seedy part of downtown Detroit, off the beaten path, between two alleys in a parking lot that has chipped yellow paint and weeds growing between cracks in the pavement. Beth sighs softly and checks her rearview mirror for any sign of Rio pulling into the lot, their client already there across from her.

He’s been there for ten minutes, leaning against the hood of his car, watching her.

She taps her fingers against the dash and turns the engine off; she’d nixed her mini-van for Annie’s car because it’s a little easier to maneuver and Dean needed the van to take the kids to various schedules tonight.

Beth checks her phone, just in case, but there’s nothing from Rio that signals why he’s late. Irritation pops along her bloodstream—this is so typical. He wants to control the situation, control _her,_ sets the expectations and yet he’s fucking late.

She glances across the parking lot, to the client who hasn’t moved, waiting more patiently than she feels…but surely that’s not going to last for long. He’s tall and strong but in a way that almost sets her nerves on edge, the muscles of his arms flexing as he cuts pieces of apple with a too sharp knife and eats them off it.

The weight of the bag next to her, of what it holds, somehow feels like it’s pulling the car right into the pavement, sinking into water. Why is she waiting on Rio? She can do this herself…she doesn’t _need_ him to drop this product or do an exchange. It should be quick and to the point and if she does it on her own maybe that’ll stop Rio from having condescending ‘partner’ conversations in her office, only to not tell her everything she needs to know.

 She goes to get out of the car but the client is there, helping her by holding the door open—she didn’t even see him move from his spot across the lot.

“Didn’t know I was going to be joined by such a lovely woman tonight.” The man smirks, his teeth dirty in a way that makes Beth want to shiver. His smile is slimy, slides between her bones and sits there uncomfortably. “Would have dressed nicer.”

“This is a business deal.” She says quickly, grabbing the bag from the seat next to her. “I’ll show you mine…” Beth trails off.

The man smirks and nods his head, shutting her car door and motions for her to follow him to his truck. She takes even steps behind him, the cooler air settling in the bottom of her lungs and lighting her chest up like a Christmas tree with how frigid it feels.

He pulls an equally full black bag out of his open trunk and at the same time, they exchange it with one another. She lets out a slow breath, a weight suddenly lifted off her shoulders. She’s done it, she’s handled something _yet again_ by just depending on herself.

She unzips the bag, taking a look at the cash with a soft nod before turning on her heel to walk back to her car.

And then—

And then she hears it.

The metallic click of a gun’s safety shifting and she freezes, her feet rooting into the pavement like a tree. Beth can barely turn around and she just manages to look over her shoulder at the trucker guy aiming a gun right at her back.

“You know, on second thought,” He grins. “I think I’ll take that back.”

He doesn’t even give her a chance to respond or move because then he’s _firing—_

All Beth can do is stand there because suddenly, it’s like everything around her is underwater. It’s blurred, the street lights, the night air, the molecules charged into electricity against her skin, everything extremely slow and yet incredibly fast somehow all at once.

 _It’s too late to move_ something speaks to her, and she knows this. It’s _too late._ She’s just staring and waiting and she thinks of her kids and the oddest moment which involves a burnt Mother’s Day breakfast and orange juice spilling all over her bed sheets—

And then it’s done.

She _slams_ into the pavement because something else has hit her from her right. Her shoulder crashes into the concrete and a staggered breath that is most definitely the wind being knocked out of her lungs echoes after the gunshot. Beth barely has a moment to acclimate, to figure out what’s going on before that same force is lifting her from the pavement and dragging her with a series of colorful swears.

There’s more gunshots and she covers her ears because that seems like the only thing she can do? Seems like the only thing that might make sense.

She’s thrown ungracefully into the passenger seat of Annie’s car and Rio—

Her mouth opens and closes like some sort of goldfish.

Of _course,_ it’s Rio getting into the driver’s seat and throwing the bag of cash behind him all at the same time he’s closing the door and pressing on the gas. She feels shock wrapping around her ribcage, her side bruised and sore from landing too hard on the ground.

Rio looks enraged in a way she’s rarely seen him, his eyes black like a shark’s as he jerks the car onto the main drag. She opens her mouth to say something and he must sense it or hear her intake of breath because he cuts her off with a look.

“Don’t.” He snaps and squeezes the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

A sudden onslaught of what has to be adrenaline mixes with a leftover emotion because she suddenly fills to the brim with raw anger. “Where the hell were you?”

His gaze snaps to hers, unbridled annoyance and frustration erupting over his features. He laughs in a way that’s cruel and cold, ice wrapped in his syllables, and he’s jerking the car like he might do something reckless.

“What I just say? Sit the fuck back.”

Rio adjusts himself in his seat and grimaces, a short breath quickly leaving his nose. That’s when Beth sees it.

The blood all over his one arm. Her mouth falls open and as rapidly as the anger appeared is how fast it dissipates. Her heartbeat is suddenly in her ears because…because Rio is _shot._ He’s shot and he knocked her to the ground and he—he.

“You’re hurt.” She says and it sounds stupid, even to her own ears.

Rio just scoffs and says something under his breath that sounds a lot like ‘fucking suburban housewives’ and makes another turn. “Your husband home?”

Beth blinks at him, at his question and he gives her another look that tells her he shouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“No.” She licks her lips, leaning back in her seat.

He’s quiet the rest of the drive and when he pulls up in front of her driveway, he barely stops the car before he’s saying. “Get the fuck out.”

“Let me help you.” She says softly because even though everything in her body is telling her to do as he says, the static tension between their bodies, she doesn’t want to leave him.

“Oh now you wanna help?” He asks; his voice is angry but not like before. He must really be in pain because it’s curbing how pissed off he is. It’s still in his eyes though, that flare of deep-seeded frustration, ready to lick over the edges at any moment.

Rio lets his one arm fall off the wheel, resting lazily against his lap, his other hand running over his jawline as he leans back further into his seat. He then reaches over her with his good arm and pushes the door open.

“Go inside, Elizabeth.”

She shakes her head and sits there for a moment longer. If he’s hurt, really hurt, he’s not going to be able to go to the hospital and she can’t tell how much he’s bleeding with the long sleeved-sweatshirt combo he’s got going on.

“Kids are at various obligations, some at sleepovers. Dean’s…out.” She says softly because honestly? She’s not sure where Dean’s decided to go after he’s dropped their kids off at respective activities but she knows his destination these days isn’t to be home.

Rio stares straight ahead, his breathing still a little labored, but she can’t tell if it’s from pain or general frustration. His hand goes to his arm, settling over his wound and he squeezes, hard, hard enough that he has to close his eyes a moment.

“I told you to fucking wait.” He says, almost through his teeth.

Beth bristles, “Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog. I _did_ wait for you, despite not wanting to! You were late so I went ahead with the drop.”

“And what? That just gives you the green light to act like some sort of badass? I told you I wasn't feelin' this guy.”

“You told me nothing.” She snaps, giving his irritation right back to him. “We’re supposed to be partners and you never tell me anything!”

“I don’t gotta tell you jack shit.” Rio yells back, his voice vibrating against the hood of the car. “What part of this is hard for you to understand, sweetheart?”

“ _Don't_ call me that—”

He speaks over her, his voice somehow louder than before to the point where it hurts her ears. “You do this thing wrong, just once, and you don't get to come home.”

Silence pops in her eardrums and settles between them like static on a TV screen, white noise fizzling in her ears. All that’s left is Rio’s uneven breathing and her heart in her throat. She leans back against the seat and closes her eyes for a moment before getting out the passenger door. Beth stands on wobbly knees, her body aching with movement—she knows it’ll hurt twice as bad tomorrow and that she’ll probably bruise in an ugly way.

She pauses, leaning back down to look through the car at him. He’s very pointedly not looking at her, licking his lips as his head leans back against the headrest.

Beth says nothing and closes the door, turning on her heel to go into her house. She’s barely inside for a minute before she hears the front door open and close, Rio joining her at the kitchen counter, stiff like a block of wood as he sits down. He still has a vice grip on his arm and she can feel him watching her, eyes settling on the back of her body, trailing over her skin, burrowing there.

She takes her jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of her button down, taking a First Aid kit out from under the sink. The movements feel robotic, disconnected somehow and she doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until she can’t pop the lid of the kit.

Rio reaches across the counter with his good arm and opens it easily, pushing it back towards her.

 _You do this thing wrong, just once, and you don't get to come home._ The statement echoes in her ears, bounces against her eardrums because…could that have been tonight? Beth tries not to think about it and she hates to admit this, even to herself, but Rio’s _right._ Tonight could have gone a very different way if he hadn’t shown up when he did, if he hadn’t knocked her to the ground, gotten _shot for her._

But she’s too proud in that moment to thank him. She’s so _angry_ with him.

She swallows and pulls her hair back into a messy bun and washes her hands, drying them with paper towels as her eyes dance over his form. She then fills a bowl with warm water and sets it near the kit.

“You’re going to need to take your shirt off.”

There’s a pause before he’s sitting a little straighter in his seat and then that smirk is there, the one she’s so familiar with, breaking the tension in half. “Oh, yes ma’am.” He says, his voice a little rough from screaming and she hates that it’s oddly attractive.

She rolls her eyes as he unzips his hoodie and begins unbuttoning his shirt, the fabric slipping easily off his injured arm. He needs a little help with the other and she’s there, gently peeling the fabric away.

Beth doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until his shirt and hoodie fall to the chair next to him, an ugly and jagged red line across his upper arm. Her eyes skitter over golden skin, toned in a way that makes her entire body ache. There are tattoos speckled across his body and beauty marks and scars.

“Just a graze.” He says, gaining her attention. His lips tug into an amused smile at her expression and she can’t imagine what she must look like. She feels flushed, nervous, _hot._ She focuses on how he talks about his wound, like it’s somehow not a big deal and she wants to hit him with the First Aid box.

“Just a _bullet graze.”_ She tuts almost distastefully and gently grasps his lower arm to lift it higher, to get a better look. He won’t need stiches but it’s still ugly, dark, red and looks incredibly sore.

It could have been worse.

“If I didn't know any better, I’d say you sound worried about me.” Rio grins, all teeth, his other hand tugging a curl that’s framing her face.

She bats his hand away and takes gauze from the First Aid kit, dipping into the warm water bowl and presses it against his wound, rough and hard. He lets out a sharp noise because he’s not expecting it and muddled bloody water rolls down his arms, the drips seeping into his black jeans.

Beth doesn’t let up the pressure, “You’re an _idiot.”_ She hisses and almost doesn’t mean it? But also isn’t sure why she’s said it. He saved her life. But at the same time…

Rio scrunches his nose, “Anyone ever tell you that you got the worst bedside manner?”

She doesn’t respond, instead she throws the wet gauze down onto the table with a sickeningly _thwap_ and grabs an antiseptic with fresh gauze to clean Rio’s wound. He’s quiet for a few moments, his eyes following her movements and she doesn’t realize that her breathing has gotten quicker, that her hands are shaking yet again, until Rio’s good hand covers her.

He keeps it there a moment before she looks up at him.

His jaw works but he’s not frustrated, he’s considering her, chewing on a thought before it leaves his lips. His hand moves to cup her cheek, his thumb grazing along her cheekbone, the cold metal of the ring on his pinky finger digging against the underside of her chin.

“I’m alright,” He whispers and it somehow takes all the oxygen from her lungs but she’s unsure why. Relief? Desperation? Exhaustion? Beth closes her eyes, his thumb moving along her lower lip, pressing down. “Been through worse, really.”

And that’s not comforting to hear but it startles a laugh from her, “I’m not about to make this a habit—patching you up in my kitchen.”

His hand falls from her mouth, amusement pulling at the edges of his mouth. “S’too bad. Just when I was about to mention a bunch of naughty nurse scenarios—”

Beth replies with applying antiseptic, which stings and Rio hisses and it only makes her smile. “Oops.”

She takes her time cleaning up the wound, wrapping it carefully with gauze before she throws away the bloody excess. Beth sighs, feels like pouring herself a drink and figures _fuck it_ why not? She moves to the cabinet and pulls down the bourbon and two glasses, giving him a few sips worth before herself.

As angry as she was with him earlier in the day, watching him in her kitchen, taking a long sip from the glass she’s given him…she’s glad he’s alright. It’s weird, this tug of emotions inside her, where she ends up on a day to day basis. And maybe that’s why she enjoys it so much, enjoys _him_ so much.

None of it’s predictable. All of it’s a little bit painful.

But worth every moment.

“So…why were you late?” She asks after a moment.

Rio licks his lips and sighs, his eyes not meeting hers. Instead, his thumb traces the edge of the bourbon glass. Silence fills the kitchen and for a few minutes she settles with the fact that he’s not going to tell her.

Until, “Marcus was sick.” It takes him a lot of effort to tell her that, she can see it in a way that his shoulders tense.

His son. He was late because of his son.

Beth takes a sip of her drink, pulling her hair loose so that it falls around her shoulders and leans against the counter. She’s not going to press, but she does ask, “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Had a fever.” He clears his throat and suddenly looks antsy, like he’d rather be anywhere than in her kitchen talking about his kid. Rio pulls his hoodie free from his clothes on the chair next to him and slips it back on but doesn’t zip it up. She figures it’s just something for him to do, to keep his hands busy.

She’s never thought of him as a nervous person but this admittance makes him uncomfortable, despite the fact that she’s seen him interact with Marcus at the playground where she takes her own children. This is different, she realizes, this is somehow more exposure than all those other times.

Rio looks up at her, holding her gaze as he shifts the conversation. “Next time when I tell you to wait.”

“I’ll do it.” She admits quietly and almost too quick, “But you need to be honest with me. This doesn’t work if we’re not…we need to be partners in that exact sense of the word.”

He smiles, drawing his lower lip into his mouth a moment as he rolls over what she’s said. “What about in _every_ sense of the word?”

Oh, and now he’s teasing her.

Beth shakes her head and actually goes to smack his arm this time but he’s quick; he grabs her wrist and _tugs_ her right where he wants her. Right between his legs as he straightens his posture at the counter. Rio holds her gaze, her chest nearly against his own, his thighs radiating heat along her hips.

She’s unsure of who moves first but their mouths _do_ meet, his hand cupping her cheek to keep her grounded. His lips are rough and warm and insistent and he somehow tastes like she always thought he would: like bourbon and regret and exhilaration. A soft noise tumbles out of her throat and that only makes him pull her closer until the kisses are a little desperate and rough.

Beth eventually has to pull back because it feels like her lungs might pop, even though the concept is oddly intoxicating. Rio’s lower lip is red and swollen from contact and he nips at her upper lip before his thumb once again presses against the side of her mouth.

“Partners.” She whispers against his skin and he hums.

His voice is rough like the stroke of his thumb, the way he speaks digging down into that heated pool that starts to gather between her legs. “Partners, ma.”

A promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always taking requests at my tumblr! Blainesebastian.tumblr.com/ask


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